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Saturday, 16 January 2010

Saturday in Uccle

I have to write a new post and quickly, because something terrible happened to the font on the last one and it's making me nauseous and nothing I try to do seems to make it better. Either that or I'm allergic to my own blog. It could be that. I want to get back to a more innocent time where I could be massively, unjustifiably rude about everyone because noone was actually reading. No, I'm being churlish. I don't want you all to go away. Stay! I'm just having a bad tempered day. I was woken at half 6 by the weepette, it now transpires, trying to tell me Lassie style that it had peed in about five places around the house. Urine treasure hunt, what a lovely way to start the day. Since then I have dragged Satan's pet* around the house with my usual mixture of trepidation and laziness, washed the floor hopelessly, been to the supermarket. It's been an unending whirl of solitary fun.

Actually the latter was the most depressing of all. Already in low spirits and further dampened by the usual 30 minute check out queue, I was standing just behind an old lady who was talking to the check out girl.

"As my pharmacist says" said the old lady, sagely, placing her small packet of Offal For One and single can of Jupiler on the conveyor belt with a trembling hand "Old age is like a shipwreck. And it comes sooner than you think. Oh yes, it comes so quickly. Quicker than you can imagine".

I have been in bits ever since this joyful announcement. I will grow old at massive speed in suburban Brussels, speaking only to an ever-narrowing round of pharmacists and shop assistants. The traditional January deluge has started too.

Oh, you wanted something uplifting? Sorry. I had a nice hot apple juice with grated ginger and a tiny lemon tart with Prog Rock at the Pain Quotidien today and played with my flamey-ass box of fire. I'm going out tonight to some, as my phone insists, "hay bars " with a bunch of people I've never met. I intend to be under-dressed and over-ginned as my northern heritage requires. It's the only way to get through this whole, imminent old age and rain thing. Will that do? No? Look at these fake dog balls then. Neuticles! Be extra sure to check out the merchandising section for your own pair of prosthetic dog testicle earrings. Thank you.

(*Thank you, Polish Chick, for my new favourite way to describe the hoover)

It's more of a slow motion shipwreck really. Another wrinkle/ache/insert appropriate sign of ageing each month/week/day depending on your age. You are under 40, stop worrying. You have some years yet before you need to worry - ample time to get the hell out of Belgium first.

By the way, I may be falling apart (I am nearly as old as Z) but Justme has just given me a box of your Cruel Tea biscuits so I at least have something to look forward to. Don't I??

Ok, I feel better about your flamey box o'fire-its not an open fire pit, its a lamp in the middle of your bedroom floor. Sounds much safer..

Of course Americans such as myself needed to be protected from such things, because in our country we routinely burn down our houses and apartment buildings with candles, baseboard heaters, bras caught in dryers, overheated lamps and poorly discarded burned microwave popcorn.

Nothing to add re: vacuum, but the FIRE. The FIRE. It is splendid. And, the random ad/game thingie on Twitpics was two photos with "Which One Is Female?" as the burning question, which was also hilarious.

WV: Zingsty. Which, depending on how you pronounce the "y" could be quite good.